


Disarming

by weesta



Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: Badass Eliot, Hotass Dean, Hotass Eliot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weesta/pseuds/weesta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swapping tales in a bar, Dean calls bullshit and suddenly Eliot's got something to prove.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disarming

Dean was between hunts and Dad was four states away. There was something about the guy at the bar, something familiar in the way he moved, the way he watched everyone in the place. And Dean didn’t feel like spending the evening alone.

So...a friendly conversation, an offer to buy another beer, a game of pool. They started trading stories, each trying to out do the other until they sounded like a pair of old timers swapping tall tales. But on this last one, Dean could take no more and drew the line. Made the bet.

"Bullshit." Dean slammed his beer down on the table emphatically. "Buuuull - _shit_."

Eliot just looked over the beer he'd been nursing and quirked an eyebrow.

Dean leaned in even though the table they'd parked at was in an unoccupied corner. "You're tellin' me...you went up against five,” he held up one hand and wiggled all of his fingers for emphasis, "...FIVE heavily armed guys...and you took them all out with no weapons of your own." Dean sat back to take a deep breath. "AND..." he continued in righteous disbelief, "you _disarmed_ each and every one."

Eliot tipped his head to the side. "That's exactly what I'm tellin' you."

"So, what?...Your hands are lethal weapons?"

Eliot smirked, "Something like that."

It was the smirk that pushed Dean over the edge; he just wanted to wipe it right off of Eliot's face. "Bet you can't disarm me." he challenged. It was a stupid bet; that was clear to Dean right off the bat. He had a few inches on Eliot, but the weight and age advantage was negligible. It almost occurred to Dean to try to take his words right back – chalk it up to too many beers, if not for two reasons: Dean Winchester wasn’t one to back down from a challenge even if the chances were good he was going to get his ass handed to him; and the _heat_ that rose in Eliot’s face when he accepted the dare.

Eliot leaned across the table, resting his forearms on the small surface and locking eyes with Dean. “What do I get when I win?” he growled in a low rasp that set Dean’s blood racing.

“ _If_ you win.” Dean responded with bravado he hoped covered the nervous quake in his voice.

“ _When_ I win.” Eliot responded, hooking his boot through the rung at the bottom of Dean’s chair and dragging him closer, never losing eye contact with Dean.

“I guess the winner gets to pick.” Again, with the stupid things to say; but Eliot’s proximity and the thrill of the unexpected prompted Dean to forge ahead.

When Eliot moved, it was not what Dean was anticipating. He figured Eliot would go first for the knife that was securely strapped to his wrist. Instead, Eliot snaked his foot forward under Dean’s chair to trap Dean’s boot between Eliot’s foot and the chair. In one fluid motion, Eliot twisted and pulled his foot, easily removing Dean’s boot and the knife tucked inside.

Eliot never batted an eye, but his smirk grew.

Dean moved next, pushing away from the table, trying to put as much space between him and Eliot as possible, all the while cursing in his head for putting no actual boundaries on this ridiculous bet. Suddenly the hunter had become the hunted and options were limited. Dean’s adrenaline was pumping, but that wasn’t the only thing that had his heart racing.

When Dean rose, so did Eliot. He surprised Dean again when he appeared to stumble against the table, knocking it into the wall on the left. The movement and the noise got some attention from the bored patrons at the bar. Dean would’ve taken advantage of the chance to escape if Eliot wasn’t so damned quick.

Instead of going for the knife, Eliot “stumbled” into Dean, grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him up against the wall. Dean gasped when Eliot shoved his knee between Dean’s thighs. Eliot pressed his body flat against Dean’s. He still had that goddam smirk on his face. Eliot leaned in to drawl, teasing and low. “If we was wrassilin’ back here someone’d come back to break it up.” The press of Eliot’s hips against his caused Dean to bite back a moan. “But if they think we’re makin’ out, they’ll leave us alone.”

Eliot slid his hands down from Dean’s shoulders as he pushed in to capture Dean’s mouth with a kiss. The _snick_ of the knife as it came free of its strap almost didn’t register with Dean. When Eliot pulled away from the kiss, he started licking and mouthing at Dean’s neck. Eliot moved along Dean’s jaw line until he was right below his ear. “How many weapon’s you packin’, Dean?”

Dean swallowed hard, finding it hard to form any coherent thoughts, let alone a sentence.

“Ain’t that for you to find out?”

Dean could feel the crinkle of Eliot’s smile against his cheek. Eliot moved his left hand from where it loosely encircled Dean’s right wrist to palm against the front of Dean’s jeans. Dean hissed and dropped his head forward onto Eliot’s shoulder even as Eliot asked, “You countin’ this as a weapon, boy?”

“Son of a…”

Eliot cut Dean off with another, less playful kiss. With his right hand he reached around and snaked his hand between Dean and the wall. With no effort Eliot lifted the hem of Dean’s shirt and snatched the gun from the waistband of Dean’s jeans. Dean knew he was defeated. “You got ‘em. You got all my weapons.”

Then inspiration struck and Dean grinned widely. “Wanna make it two out of three?”


End file.
